A Failed Cover Up

I grew up with only sisters and that was cool. Especially when we all hit puberty and it was time to have The Talk about that special time of the month when we'd be "riding the crimson wave" or "Aunt Flo was coming to visit". 

Can we all agree that what we have nicknamed our periods is way more obnoxious than just saying we're on our period?

I remember thinking to myself that there was no way, ever, in the entire world, that I was going to have a child of the female persuasion because of the whole, completely mortified, thing about what I was supposed to do with that thing and my crotch. I was also very good at biology and anatomy and how it's completely not up to you to decide the gender of your baby, no matter how embarrassed you are as a pre-teen girl learning about tampons. 

I guess it's mind over matter because I went ahead and plopped out a boy. Score. I do not have to deal with explaining periods to my kid. That will officially be the job of his middle school P.E. teacher and I'm totally okay with that. 

Oh wait, what's that son? What did you just ask me? What is this "thing"? 

Uhhhhhhhhhh......

First of all, I'd like to know who took the imaginary eyeball recognition scanner off of the cabinet door in the bathroom where I store all of those "things". Sure it looks like it was just a plastic child safety lock so you didn't take a swig of the toilet bowl cleaner, but in my mind...IN MY MIND...it was supposed to deter you from ever seeing anything else under that sink. Especially these "things". 

Now, what I'm about to tell you is going to confuse you so much more than you were probably confused before you asked me. Pay close attention because this is top notch parenting you're about to witness. After we're done here, I'll need to you to go and dust the Mother of the Year award curio in the dining room. 

Those "things"? That you found under the sink in the bathroom? They're ketchup stoppers.

I'm sorry. Come again. Ketchup what-ers?

What I thought would be such a ridiculously distracting answer has officially backfired.

Abort Mission: Giggle Fit! You have made a terrible mistake! Keep a straight face! Don't look disgusted! WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING, MOM?! WHY?!

 

Turns out, the more pathetically abstract you make explaining feminine products to a five-year-old boy, the more he's going to repeat it, loudly, at the sight of tampons, ketchup, or strangers in public places.

I should have just told him to ask his middle school P.E. teacher...in ten years...

Ever try making up an explanation to your kids?